Work sucks: A giant sucking sound

First there was the shot heard round the world. Then came the sucking sound heard round the world…

This Tuesday morning the work week started like most any other. And by that I mean, of course, hating myself and wishing I had the guts to … well, a little self-censorship can occasionally be a good thing. ‘Nuff said.

We were in the factory going about the business of selling our piece of shit widgets. It was gloomy.

Suddenly the phone rang and the boss took the call…

It was obvious that something was up. Soon the boss was panting like a bitch in heat, even more than he normally does. A big fish was on the line!

Eventually he hung up the phone and let out a holler. “I just made a $20,000 sale!”

I glanced over in disgust just long enough to see that his eyeballs were gone. In their place were spinning green orbs, pulsating, glowing and looking a hell of a lot like dollar signs.

The boss was gone, yo.

As always when customers were involved, there was some urgency regarding the order. In fact, they needed it like yesterday. Just like always. My failure to plan is your emergency. Typical.

Due to the figures involved, the boss couldn’t wait to lick their hand and give them every consideration. Remember – This is the all-knowing, all-seeing magical boss of intelligence who makes the Wizard of Oz look like idiotic mold found on top of pond scum.

Long story short, he devised a plan that was pure genius. Genius!!!

It went a little something like this:

Step One – Skip the step where we accept payment before shipping product. Remember, these customers were in a hurry.

Step Two – Spend all day working on the order, trying to keep up the appearances that you can actually follow through on what you said you’d do. Forsake all other tasks and customers who are suddenly irrelevant.

Step Three – Ship everything you can scrape together out the door.

Step Four – Payment magically comes, somehow, later.

The boss explained his ace up his sleeve here. If they didn’t come through with the payment as promised, he’d simply call UPS and recall the shipment. Oh, it sounds so damn easy in his fantasies.

The package was shipped. It contained about $14,000 worth of stupid, piece of shit goodies that we sell. Hey, it’s a living.

The next day the payment call didn’t come in as promised.

The boss waited another day then leapt into action. Suddenly the customer became hard to get a hold of and didn’t return calls. But still he held off on recalling the shipment.

On Thursday the window of opportunity on the shipment closed. The product was now in their grubby little fingers.

And then, today, the shit hit the fan. Oh my. I’m so surprised. Who could have foreseen this? Certainly not a blubbering idiot like me that depends on the boss to tell me how to wipe my own ass.

How did the boss spend his day? Crying about transaction fees on a $14,000 credit card charge. At two or three percent it worked out to be about $300. You see, the customer had to cancel the order but the credit card processing companies still keep their cut. Man, no pig in the history of the universe ever squealed so damn well! You’d think they wanted one of his kidneys or something. Actually, scratch that. He would have actually given one of those up to save the money from his own damn mistake.

That’s assuming, of course, that we eventually do get paid and don’t have to eat a $14k loss on this deal, which I feel is still possible. He was moaning a little while ago about how the customer had “lied” to him.

He spent all day long on the phone schmoozing banks, credit card companies, processing centers, and also the customer. He thinks he’s so damn smooth with his sickening little “aren’t I funny” giggle. Ugh. All he did was beg for other people to fix his mistake so it wouldn’t cost him personally. I thought it was really cute how when things didn’t go exactly his way he’d drop his fake nice person persona and turn on them in anger. Ha ha ha ha ha!

And he really squealed some more when getting schooled on how funds were on hold, refunds would have to come from his business checking, etc. That means he has to shift $14k of his own money around to cover this mistake for about a week. “I have the money,” he wined, “but I don’t want to do that!” If he was three years old holding his wubbie and stamping his foot it would have been sublime perfection.

This post is a hatchet job but I don’t care. I just wanted to share. I love working for intelligent people.

13 responses

  1. hahaha, love it…

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    1. Thanks. Sometimes truth is danger than friction. Or so I’ve heard.

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  2. If you consider this a hatchet job you need to adjust the level of your medication.

    Once again you made me laugh when my mouth was full. My grocery bills are going through the roof.

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    1. It’s always good advice to never eat around my blog, which is more powerful than ipecac syrup.

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    2. Deborah the Closet Monster | Reply

      Seconding the sentiment of the first sentence above! (That’s not to say I wouldn’t second the other stuff, but I’ve just come from lunch . . .)

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      1. Before reading shouts latest, I gird my loins with a double martini. I’m trying to break this habit as I usually end up snorting with laughter and that’s a waste of perfectly good vodka.

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  3. Wow. I gasped when I read step one.

    ::shakes head::

    I hope he at least learns his lesson on THAT point. Dick.

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    1. You know, I’d be willing to chalk it up as an innocent mistake if I wasn’t already sick of him pontificating on EVERY possible subject as an expert of all knowledge and that he didn’t spend all day, every day treating me like a kindergarten student too dumb to know how to wipe my own ass.

      I actually sat him down once and talked to him about this. The fucker knows nothing of being a manager. His actions communicate that he thinks you are too stupid to be trusted, like when he personally has to close all the safes because I’m too dumb to know how. Or how when I’m about to explain what I’m going to do regarding a task, he cuts me off and says, “This is what you do.”

      I explained that by cutting me off, he has deprived me of the opportunity to demonstrate that I know what I’m doing, and he’s also deprived himself of the opportunity to learn if I’m competent or not.

      When performance time comes around, I have no doubt he’ll be generous, because he somehow senses that I do a good job. But he’ll have absolutely no factual understand of what it is that I do that is good since he’s never allowed me opportunity to demonstrate it.

      We talked about this and a few other things, and the best response he could come up with was, “You’re trying to change me.” And so we sail on.

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  4. I’m kind of glad that your boss got pwned, although I AM sorry that you had to listen to him moan on and on about it.

    Then again, they do say that Mensa type geniuses are often emotionally stunted, so maybe he’s just too smart to deal with his emotions well.

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    1. Erm. I aced a Mensa test using less than half of the time permitted. Now we know what’s wrong with me!

      The boss isn’t all bad. Since our office space is so cramped (we listen to each other breathe all day) he bought me a pair of headphones. When I get sick of the sound of his voice I put those babies on a crank up the Pandora. Otherwise I might not be alive right now.

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  5. Hilarious as per usual! Hey, we all have our private hells to deal with. At least you don’t have 80 year old geezers screeching at you because they have to wait an extra 10 minutes for their Viagra script to be filled. I just thank god I’m behind bulletproof glass (For realz!)

    In other news, you’ll be happy to know my gerbil finally moved out. He and his lady love have a new baby & a new condo. Congratulate me! That’s why I haven’t made a blog post in a while…been too busy ecstatically running around my empty nest in my undies. Woo-Hoo!!

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    1. Woot! Happy GMOD! (Gerbil Move Out Day.) I know the feelings of joy, nirvana and freedom that you are now experiencing are indescribable!

      Bulletproof glass? Do not want. It would be too limiting for me. 🙂

      I know every job sucks in its own way, and I can’t imagine your special hell, except that I know how ugly the public can be. I feel for you!

      80-year old men loading up with Viagra? That’s explicitly mentioned in Underwear Goes Inside The Pants. A song about your job!

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  6. Yes, my blog is the martini killer. And trust me, I feel so bad about that. A little part of my cries. The procedure is, of course, to quaff the martinis before you get here, for a variety of reasons. Think of it a sanity protector.

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